Tomorrow
by Tasia
Summary: After the long months rebuilding Ishval, General Roy Mustang visits Resembool and contemplates on his past and future. Royai.


A/N: Merry Christmas **areyousanta**! I'm your secret santa this year and I hope you enjoy this! This is based on your drawing "Sleepy Royai for the lovely anons".

Pairing: Royai (FMAB)

Words: 1.7k

Rating: G

* * *

 **Tomorrow**

The last blanket of snow has seeped into the soil, and with it depart the dusky earth and gaunt, leafless trees. Colors have returned to Amestris; the bright, yellow sun washing over a bed of green, beckoning its citizens out of the confines of their homes. White clouds paint the sky, wispy and light, against a sea of clear blue canvas. The clouds move languidly, unhurried, as though content with watching the people stir below them. The hummingbirds sing, flocking upon the thick, flowerful branches above their heads.

Shoulder to shoulder, the General and the Captain rest on the highest peak of the rolling hills. They pick the oldest tree, the one with the strongest and most robust trunk, lined with age along the bark. The two lean their heads, their backs, against it, and capture the sliver of respite that has eluded them in the months prior.

With a contented sigh General Roy Mustang pulls his legs toward his chest, huddling them together. His eyes absorb the view, serene and untouched, a reprieve from the city life of Central and the humdrum of its streets. The landscape is also polarizing from where they had been, the dry and gritty sand of Ishval, scorching beneath their feet. There's calmness on his face, the stress lines now invisible, gone as quick as the delicate petals blown by the wind. The only line stretching as broad as his shoulder is the half moon curve on his lips. He says, "This is a nice break before we have to head back."

Beside him Captain Riza Hawkeye sits, legs propped up in the shape of a pyramid. One hand remains on her knee, the other twiddles with the swaying grass, brushing its length. With her eyes bound to the ground, she replies, a small smile, "It is. We were so busy in Ishval I almost forgot we'd be in Resembool for a day."

"Well, I'm glad we stopped by Resembool before we go home," Roy states, lighthearted and pleased. His watchful gaze is tethered to the fat, wooly sheeps crossing the meadow.

Riza twirls the tip of the grass, a slow, sinuous motion with her finger. "It was great seeing Edward and Winry. They seem very happy."

Laughing lightly, Roy remarks, "Fullmetal wakes up to this view everyday. Of course he's happy."

She looks up, her vision encountering the sheeps. Her throat draws a quiet chuckle when a cow-patterned dog emerges with a commanding bark from the herd of white. Playfully, Riza quips, both hands kneading her knees, "You can always move here and give up your führership. Tell grandfather you've changed your mind."

Roy replies, mock-scoffing, "And live near the kid? I don't think so."

A thin, narrow glare from the woman pierces him, but her timbre is benign and weightless, "Edward's not a kid anymore. He's married with two children. And a third on the way."

The General grazes the grass with his hand, snorting quietly, amused by both the tickling sensation on his palm and his adjutant's sharp reminder. "I know that." Looking at his Lieutenant, he adds, "Have you ever thought about… having a family?"

She steadily brings her gaze up to meet his, lingering momentarily at the rose-stained cheeks below his expecting eyes, examining. Her brows wrinkle, head tilted sideways. "What do you mean?"

The flush deepens on his complexion, a contrasting cherry red against pale skin, but he holds her curious stare without shame. "You know… marrying, having a child or two..."

From where he sits - a few inches away from her face, Roy can see her rich, brown eyes glean his expression, searching for humor. When she finds sincerity, she answers, thoughtful yet reluctant, a hard stare beyond the dirt, "I suppose I did a long time ago, when I was young and lived with my father… Before the war..."

There's regret, longing, in her tone, and Roy can't help but feel a deep, plummeting twist in his stomach. It is of guilt, he decides, for dragging her down with him. He's tempted to reach out to her, to pull her into his arms and return to the time when they can freely display their emotions without the consequences of fraternization to intervene. But he realizes he only has words to console. "We've done as much as we can. Xing trade route is established. Ishval restoration is complete, and the citizens have returned to their homeland…"

"And yet we still have a lot of work to do," interrupts Riza, frank and abrupt, suspending a schooling appearance at the man.

He hums. "Right..." Suddenly, Roy feels the need to explain himself, "I just hope it's all worth the sa-"

But in a brief second a delightful smile blooms across her lips, halting his speech. Her cheeks follow in kind, tinted pink and pretty as the cherry blossom petals that flit about them. Tenderness shows vividly in her eyes, in the way she returns his gaze with a softness, a look almost too intimate for a superior officer to see. "I have no regrets following you, if that's what you're thinking. And tomorrow can never come too soon." His führership. "This is the day we've both been waiting for."

"You're right. Tomorrow can never come too soon..." Roy repeats, hesitant, a fragment of nervousness threaded in his words.

At his uncertainty, she says, raising her voice with sternness, as if expelling the doubts from his mind, "I know you will be fine. _Everything_ will be fine. I've always believed in you, ever since we were young."

Roy simply nods, at a loss for words. But in the strange muteness, he finds comfort, warming his chest unexpectedly.

In a moment, his stoic lieutenant returns, her firm, decorous demeanor with it. "Shall we head for the train station, sir? Our train is due to depart at precisely 1400 hours." She shifts in her seat, her heavy boots stamped flat on the ground, both arms pillaring beside her. She rises to stand.

Dawdling a handsome smile, he says, pulling her back down by the arm until they are side by side once more, "Just fifteen more minutes, Hawkeye. We have time."

She nods. "Alright, sir."

His inauguration is energizing. But also terrifying. As his chin tilts up, contemplative eyes exploring the hills and the blurred edges of the horizon, the General finds his mind storming with anxiety. It is no easy task running a country, and already, the thought of failure seeps into his brain. Will he be able to accomplish what he has set out to do? Has everything been worth the sacrifice? He can feel his hands trembling with eagerness, fear.

Thoughts of joining the military seem so far away now, the idea that was once weaved with the innocence of youth. He wanted to make the world a better place. He wanted to fight for the oppressed and the powerless. Such naive, commonplace dream among the recruits, he now understands. The harsh reality only hits once they become soldiers, thrown into the chaos of war involuntarily, until they emerge from the other side with hardened battle scars in both body and mind. Like him. Like her.

But he steers away from the grim recollection and starts to think about what they have accomplished. The trade route to Xing has been established, the two countries' relationship flourishing and prosperous. Ishval is restored; the citizens have returned to their ancestral place, and they carry with them hopeful gazes beneath amber eyes. And although the horrors of the Civil War will never abandon him, Roy has done and will continue to strive for Ishval's recovery, until every bone in his body crumbles, scattering to ashes.

With the promise of a better future in his hand, he discovers renewed vigor. He establishes convictions, steeling resoluteness in his heart. This is everything they have worked tirelessly for, for a picture of peace that gradually turns clearer and more alive as the day goes by.

The next moment, Roy feels a sudden weight on his shoulder. A hint of lavender tickles his senses, subtle yet familiar, a fleeting scent among the earthy grass and the sweet cherry blossom flowers. His vision finds Riza, nestled along the crook of his neck, and he studies her.

The face she harbors is free of tension, unblemished by the burden of years past. It's a sight he had seen once upon a time as an apprentice, and one he hopes to see more of in the coming days. Affectionately, he tucks loose golden strands behind her ear. When he does so, he can't stop himself from trailing his thumb along her jawline, soft and gentle, just enough to feel her warmth without rousing her from slumber. There's admiration in his eyes, fondness, and something else he can't yet admit in front of their peers.

His other hand, fidgety and moist, digs into his trouser pocket, which is wrinkled by the way he sits, burying the content within deeper and further from his reach. As his fingers unearth the item, the fluttering in his stomach overwhelms, and his heart feels as though it is jumping out of his skin. Feeling the cool, hard touch of metal on his fingertips, Roy grasps the item, holding onto the circular band as if his life depends on it.

He lingers a soft gaze at her, mild creases along his eyes, along the seams of his mouth. In the tranquil silence, his lips brush her temple, warm under his breath, and he smiles endearingly. Riza Hawkeye has always been the one woman he loves, the only woman who has journeyed with him through hell and back.

Tomorrow Roy Mustang becomes Führer. Every part of his body celebrates, triumphant and glad, brimming with joy. But this occasion is pushed into the back of his mind as his hands shake with excitement, his feet threatening to spring up to a dance. Everything in the world is suddenly sweeter and more vibrant, because his Queen will finally sit beside him on her rightful throne. Tomorrow is the most important day of his life, the long-awaited day. Tomorrow is the day he asks Riza Hawkeye to be his wife.


End file.
